Not the Movies but Maybe a Happy Ending
by Wolfstang 14
Summary: My response to Ziva/Cote leaving NCIS. Let's just say I wish she'd come back.
1. Chapter 1

**Soo, like several people, I'm really unhappy that Cote de Pablo left NCIS. Therefore, response story!**

* * *

It didn't happen this way in the movies. If this was a movie, she would have dashed across the tarmac, long curls flying behind her, calling out his name. He would have flown the stairs, crying out _her _name, and they would have fallen into each other's arms, crying and laughing and kissing and promising to never, _never_ be separated again. They'd return to Washington D.C. on a new flight, get married, have children and grow old together as the words "The End" flashed across the screen.

But this wasn't a movie. This was real life.

In real life, Ziva watched the plane carrying her partner, her friend and her lover farther and farther away until even the glowing lights on its wingtips were swallowed by the all-encompassing darkness. Closing her eyes, she let tears fall freely, conjuring up their last moment together- his lips on hers, his hand twining through her curls as they kissed fiercely, possessively, desperately seeking to convey what words alone could not.

Tony had wanted her to return to Washington D.C. with him, to come back to what he considered her home. She couldn't. She needed to start her life over, to wipe the slate clean, and she needed to do it on her own, in Israel. She couldn't run away anymore. Yet, part of her continued to scream that she _was _running- away from him. She was running away from the man she so desperately loved.

_I can't lose him._

She had already lost all of her family. Her mother, Tali, Ari and her father. All gone, all lost.

Ziva forced herself to turn from the tarmac and go back into the building, wincing as the movement sent twinges of pain up the leg damaged while fighting those sent to kill her and hadn't healed right. Out of habit, she reached up to touch her neck, only to find it bare, the Star of David now secretly tucked in Tony's suit pocket. She felt somewhat naked, without it, as if part of her had been exposed with its leaving. At the same time, she thought, no she _knew _it was right for it to stay with Tony. Perhaps it wasn't so much a missing piece as it was a part of her going with him.

That thought helped ease her ache, and she even managed a small smile to herself before pulling the headscarf from her pocket, covering her face and stepping out into the night to return to the house of her birth.

Alone.

…..

Nights were the most difficult, she had discovered.

During the day, she could keep herself occupied with daily tasks- shopping, job-seeking, cleaning and visiting the old places of her childhood. During the day, she could pretend normalcy- just another Israeli citizen going about her business, living her everyday life.

At night, ah, but at night- that was when the memories came back. They tore at her vulnerable heart, opening wounds she desperately wanted closed, keeping her up until the wee hours of the morning. They never had order, never had meaning, but came and left at sporadic intervals, dangling the tantalizing feelings of comfort, camaraderie and closeness she had come to associate with her eight years at NCIS. She had never felt as utterly alone as she did when the nights closed in on her.

Soon enough even her days began take on a painful monotony. Her attempts at starting a brand new life, of letting go became harder and harder as she sank further and further into her loneliness. She tried to keep away from her old life- getting a new phone, replacing her English books with Hebrew ones, even trying to re-apply for Israeli citizenship. But every time she tried to cut ties, she would see something, hear something or even smell something that would remind her of NCIS and Washington D.C. Maybe it was a voice, or the way someone walked, even the taste of some food, and suddenly she was transported back to the Navy Yard, sipping tea while enjoying an outside break with Ducky, or walking under the shade provided by Abby's spidery umbrella, listening to the quirky forensic scientist ramble on about some band or another.

Her thoughts of Tony were the hardest to bear. The clothes she had worn the last night they spent together hung unwashed in her closet, lest she destroy his ever-fading scent that she strove to smell every day. She needed to get away. She needed to build anew. She had to forget her past- forget him.

And yet she knew she never would.

…..

She went back to the olive grove often, passing under the spreading branches, brushing the leaves and un-ripened olives with her fingers as she went. She always went to the same place- three rows over, twelve trees down. That was _their _place- the place where _he _had stood, watching her dig a hole and bury the small wooden box containing her "I Will" list.

The winds and the one rare rainstorm in the vicinity had washed the raw earth back down to just another unassuming lump. For Ziva, however, the place was seared into her memory as if it had been marked with a permanent, bright "X".

She knelt down, one hand absently smoothing the dry dirt as she remembered her last time in the grove. Only that time she had not been alone. That time she had Tony with her, fighting, hoping, praying that she would return with him, even if she was not to return to NCIS. She remembered the feeling of his lips brushing her knuckles, and tears fell from her eyes. To distract herself, she traced the words of her original list in the dirt.

_I will be a ballerina. _

_I will ride a horse._

_I will visit America and Ireland._

_I will have a boy and girl._

A stray though came into her mind- telling Tony that the little girl who had written those statements nearly two decades ago once could have defied her father to follow her own dreams and make her own life. Sure, as an adult she had ridden several horses (mostly to eliminate targets in hard-to-reach places), had visited Ireland (for another mission) and of course, had ended up in America.

But if she had become a ballerina instead of a career soldier and assassin? What if she had married, settled down, and had children? It was easy to imagine that her life would be so much simpler, so much more peaceful. Even… happier.

Or would it?

Yes, she would not have to kill her own half-brother, she would never know the agony of four months of torture.

Yes, she would not have known any of that.

Nevertheless, she never would have met her NCIS family either. She would not have known Jimmy's awkward yet adorable character or Ducky's calm, wise and tender-hearted demeanor. She would never have experienced Abby's eccentric, accepting and loving soul that hid a fighting spirit that rivaled Ziva's own. She would never have her teammates- McGee, geeky and sweet, the often tentative partner that had nonetheless stoically backed her up from day one. The stern, but fair Gibbs who had never failed to be there when she needed him the most, taking over the role of her all-too-absent father- the rock she so desperately required when the storms of her life threatened to take over.

And then there was Tony- her wonderful, witty, funny, obnoxious, exasperating partner. He was the man whom she had grown to love so deeply, so powerfully that at times it had threated to tear her apart. He had always been there- a partner to count on, a comedian to lighten her mood, a guardian who had gone into the very bowels of hell to avenge her supposed death, only to end up saving her life. And despite every dark secret she had revealed, every awful story, every disgusting death he had stood by her side. He had weathered her anger and ferocity, and had helped her bring her softer side out from the layers of emotionless armor she had been once forced to bury it in.

_He made me a better person _she thought, her hands burying themselves into the rich soil. _He made me a better person and I have thanked him by turning my back on him. The greatest mistake of my sorry life. _A single tear worked its way from the corner of her eye, trailed down her cheek and fell, landing soundlessly on the soil leaving behind a dark patch in the drying earth. Ziva stared at the rapidly vanishing dark patch until it disappeared in the blazing sun, and in that moment the haze of pain, betrayal, loss, loneliness and desolation seemed to seep away with the receding moisture, leaving a thought so clear and powerful her entire being shook like she was in an earthquake.

_Israel is no longer my home._

Those six words replayed themselves in her head, strengthening, growing, changing from a mere sentence to a powerful mantra. This country held nothing more for her- the David line was all but destroyed, her once-closest friend now driven to an unbridled hatred for her actions and there was naught but pain left in the empty places of her youth. No, she belonged in the United States, even if she was never to return to NCIS.

She belonged back _home. _

Ziva stood, brushing dirt off of her hands, indecision still gnawing at her insides, the faces of her biological family flashing in her mind. Then the faces of her American family came to her and she uttered a quick prayer in Hebrew, turned and then strode with purposeful strides towards the entrance of the grove. Her goodbyes had been said. She needed nothing more from Israel.

As she left the grove, Ziva's analytical mind turned towards her needed preparations, already organizing her meager belongings for the journey home.

She never saw the shooter until it was far too late.

There was that sound, so familiar and so _loud, _then something white-hot and ice cold surged through her chest at a fantastic rate, tearing its way out of her back and burying itself into a nearby tree with a definitive _crack_. Only then did she briefly see her shooter- what looked to be a man of average height and build, his face obscured by some sort of cloth- before he tuned and disappeared into the orchard at a run, responding to the sound of rushing footsteps from another direction. Ziva tried to follow, but her world abruptly spun out of control as her legs gave out from under her.

A bearded face loomed over her- Aryeh the owner of a nearby falafel shop- but his features were warped and strange. She could hear his deep, panicked voice, but it sounded far-off, as if he were speaking from a great distance; she couldn't understand what he was saying. She waved her hand at Aryeh, cutting him off.

"My…phone…" Ziva rasped in Hebrew motioning in the direction of her front pants pocket. Why did her chest feel like a thousand pounds were resting on it? No matter- she had one more thing to do. Aryeh looked unsure, but then, carefully, he pulled out her smartphone and pressed it into her shaking hands. It took three tries before she was able to get to the speed-dial number. Ilan had to hold the phone to her ear- her hand no longer responded to her brain's commands. The ring on the other line sounded three times and she began to fear that she would never be able to speak to the one person who mattered. Then the phone clicked on and _his _voice, so deep and warm, filled her ear.

"_Very _Special Agent Tony DiNozzo."

"Tony.." The world around her was rapidly becoming enveloped into a grey fog.

"_Ziva_!" Her name came out as a sharp exhalation, almost a bark of surprise. "What's…"

It took nearly all of her strength to speak again. "No… time…been…shot…" A groan escaped her as a wave of pain shot through her body. She could hear Tony talking rapidly, firing off questions without paused, but her senses were rapidly failing and she knew she wasn't long for the world.

"Tony…" he stopped for a moment, and she took the opportunity. "I… love… you…" A sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Love… you…" she repeated. As if the universe had been waiting for just that very moment, Ziva's senses cut out as abruptly as a light being turned off and her mind sank into an endless abyss, drifting further and further from her broken and lifeless body.

* * *

**So, prepare for a second chapter, maybe a third...**

**What happens to Ziva? dun dun dun!**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**First off, thank you for everyone for defending my story in the reviews- it was really sweet!**

**So, this will probably end up being four chapters. I want to apologize if not everything is inaccurate, especially the medical scenes. If you do notice inaccuracies, please _nicely _let me know what could change so it's correct. **

* * *

If Tony DiNozzo didn't know any better, he'd have sworn that the weather on the way from Washington D.C. to Tel Aviv had somehow been stuck in a time freeze or something similar, because it was almost exactly the same as it had been a month after leaving Ziva behind in Israel: cold, damp and overcast as he left the States, gradually turning to bright, dry and (presumably) hot as he neared the Middle East. It was if the weather was doing its best to contradict his currently dark mood.

Unconsciously, his fingers worked their way into the pocket in the inner lining of his suit, searching until they closed upon the object resting within. Tony pulled out the golden Star of David and held it before his eyes, watching the bright sunlight from the open window reflect off its brilliant surface. He remembered the last time he had seen the very same necklace resting in the gap where Ziva's sharp collarbones met, gleaming, always gleaming, against her olive-colored skin.

The recollection smashed open the emotional dam he had built to keep back the memories and feelings of Ziva's unexpected and horrifying call. His head dropped into his hands and a soft groan was unwittingly uttered as he recalled Ziva's strained voice, the note of agony evident even in the few words she managed, and the shock from those very words.

_No…time…been…shot…_

Even before her last sigh he had been at McGee's desk, having the tech-savvy agent trace the call. McGee had found her cell in Beersheba, where they had quickly found out that she was in surgery at the Soroka Mecical Center. Within two hours of the trace, he was on a flight to Tel Aviv. Beyond that, he had heard nothing on Ziva's condition.

"Sir, are you okay?" The concerned voice of the flight attendant broke through his scrambled revere, and he quickly wiped a hand across his face to regain his composure.

"Yeah." His voice came out weak and hoarse. Quickly he cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good." He tried a small smile, which he was sure came out more like a grimace, but if the flight attendant noticed, she thankfully didn't press him further.

"Just let me know if you need anything, sir," she said, still looking concerned. As she went further down the aisle, Tony leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, vainly attempting to get some sleep. An unbidden tear slowly worked its way down his face.

_Hang on Ziva. Don't lose me. _

…_.._

From Tel Aviv he had little over an hour-long ride to Beersheba, Ziva's childhood home. On the way there, his phone buzzed and he picked it up to see that Adam Eshel, Ziva's Mossad contact/one-time lover had texted him. The message was brief.

_Out of surgery. Stable for now. Rm 113. _

The relief Tony felt was so profound it was like a blow to the chest. Whatever happened, however things ended up, Ziva was _alive, _and that was all that truly mattered to him at that point. He quickly tapped out a reply- _Thank you. Will be there soon. Keep me posted- _then looked out the window, silently urging his driver to go faster.

…..

Sixty-one minutes later, Tony arrived at the intensive care unit of Soroka Medical Center. After flashing his badge and ID to the attendant at the front desk, he was led to Ziva's room, where two armed officers barred the doorway. Again, Tony brought out his ID and badge, but this time it took longer for him to get through- the officers took what felt like forever checking his credentials; Tony was glad for their thoroughness, but he was ready to scream with frustration, worry and fear. Luckily, the guards cleared his ID and finally, _finally_, let him through the door. Tony managed two steps before stopping dead in this tracks, feeling, for the second time, as if something had struck him in the chest.

The scene before him looked so _wrong_.

Ziva was nearly lost in the mess of tubes, wires, tape and blankets that surrounded and went into her body. She didn't even look human anymore with the breathing tube running into her mouth, three different IV lines in her arms and a mass of electrodes attached to the upper part of her chest. Her skin was pale her hair was a mess, and her face had grown sunken and haggard.

_When did she get so _small_?! _Tony thought, sagging against the doorframe. He couldn't remember her being that way- she had always seemed so strong, so fast, so powerful that her smaller stature was easily missed by him. But now she looked so petite and fragile that he thought that if he _breathed _too hard she might shatter into a million fragmented pieces. On unsteady feet he made his way over to the bed, but even then he couldn't bring himself to touch her. It was if Ziva might disintegrate the instant his fingers came in contact with her skin.

Footsteps echoed behind him and Tony turned, his hand automatically sliding to where his gun should have been (and wasn't, of course). He knew that the officers posted outside her room were there to protect Ziva, but his own protective nature for his partner remained instinctive. Adam Eshel stood at the door, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, his face completely devoid of any emotion until his eyes fell on Ziva. Then the slightest hint of sorrow entered his brown orbs.

"The bullet hit her fifth rib. Shattered her rib, ricocheted up into her left ventricle along with several bone fragments, and eventually exited out of her back. The damage was extensive; it took the duration of your plane ride here to…" Adam stopped when Tony held up his hand.

"Please…not…not now. What… what's going to happen to her?" Tony murmured. The question seemed to shake Adam's composure, and he quickly ran a hand over his face.

"It is… not as good as it could be. Ziva survived the shooting and the resulting surgery, but as of now, she is unable to breathe on her own. She was put in a medically induced coma to help her manage pain and let her heal. The doctors hope that she will be able to wake up on her own within a few hours, but they do not know exactly when she will wake."

"Do they know who shot her?" Tony reached out towards Ziva, but he still could not bring himself to touch her skin.

"No, but Mossad suspects that the shooter was connected to either the Brotherhood of Doubt or someone connected to Bodnar's group. We are still looking." Adam crossed his arms once more and then nodded towards Ziva's prone body. In a softer tone, he murmured, "You should talk to her, touch her. Familiarity might help her… come back, especially the man she loves." Tony looked up, startled.

"Please." Adam rolled his eyes. "You do not get to where I am without learning to notice these things. The man she loves- _truly _loves- has been her partner for eight years." Adam seemed somewhat abashed by his speech, for a tinge of red showed up on his face, and he shuffled his feet for a moment. Then, after a pause of a few seconds, he reached forward to clap Tony on his shoulder.

"I will have a cot brought here. Her primary doctor's name is Dr. Hayyim and her nurse is Tikva. They both speak English- most of the staff here do. There is a cafeteria two halls down, or, if you are not up for processed cardboard, the food court on campus opens at seven. Take care of Ziva." With that, Adam was gone, pausing only to speak to one of the nurses outside.

Tony pulled an uncomfortable- looking chair over to Ziva's bedside and sank down into it with a deep sigh. He stared at the opposite wall for several long minutes, and then finally reached out and closed his hand over Ziva's. Her hand felt warm, dry and papery with a slow pulse, but it was Ziva nonetheless. He used the knuckle of his other hand to brush away an errant curl that clung defiantly to her cheek. Then he began to talk.

"Do you remember the first we met Ziva? I do. I was getting over… over Kate. And you were so… _brazen. _Damn, I couldn't believe how you talked to me! You know, your hair was shorter then. Darker, too. And that purple headscarf you wore- do you remember that? You know, McGee has that now- Abby gave it to him. He doesn't like it if people know about it, but I've seen it in his desk drawer. He touches it from time to time when he thinks no one is looking. I can't say I blame him" As he talked, Tony rubbed his hand over Ziva's side, where he felt a slight raised lump against her gown- the bandages used to bind her wound. Swallowing back a fresh wave of tears, Tony started a new story, this time about when he had first experienced Ziva's driving. When that story was finished, he continued, finding new stories and thoughts. He talked until his throat was raw, talked until exhaustion and jet lag drove him onto the scratchy cot where he fell into an uneasy sleep, still clutching Ziva's limp hand.

…..

The shrill beeping of a powerful alarm woke Tony. Panicked, he shot upright, one hand swinging defensively, the other frantically searching for his non-existent gun. It took him several seconds to remember where he was, the unfamiliar surroundings only adding to his confusion and frenzy. Just as he was starting to bring himself to a calmer state, a strangled gurgle joined the alarm, barely audible above the sharp beeping, and Tony looked down to see Ziva, wide awake and clearly in agony, tearing at the breathing tube in her mouth.

"Ziva, no!" he cried, rushing forward. He kept his hands off of her, knowing full well that touching her would likely exasperate the situation. Instead, he kept his body well within her line of sight, held his hands at mid-level and spoke as soothingly as he could. "Ziva, it's okay, you're okay. It's me, Tony. You're in a hospital, you're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you. I know that tube's uncomfortable, and I know you're in a lot of pain, but you can't be helped if you keep fighting."

Ziva's chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, and it was clearly evident from the look on her face that she was in an incredible amount of pain, but slowly she let her hands drop from the plastic intrusion, although they remained tightly balled into fists. Tony carefully reached out with one hand and rested it lightly on his partner's shoulder. Ziva flinched, but made no move to force his hand away, even starting to relax somewhat. Unheard in all of the commotion, two woman stepped up to Ziva's side. The taller of the pair, a dark-skinned woman with close-cut black hair wearing a white lab coat spoke in clipped and accented English. "Ziva, I am Dr. Hayyim. I understand that you are likely in a great deal of pain right now, but I am going to ask you to try and relax as much as you can so that Tikva and I can take your breathing tube out." Ziva nodded curtly and slowed her breathing. Dr. Hayyim and Tivka worked quickly, pulling the breathing tube out and replacing it with a nasal cannula. Ziva coughed and gagged a few times- each a weak, raspy sound- and then settled back onto her pillows, her eyelids dropping. The doctor gently shook Ziva's shoulder.

"Stay awake for me Ziva, just a little while longer. I need to check your wound and make sure your stitches are not torn. Can you lift your arms for me?" Ziva complied, pulling her arms over head. Dr. Hayymin started to pull up Ziva's gown and Tony quickly averted his gaze. He listened to the rustle of cloth, murmured Hebrew and then Dr. Hayyim said, "Good, your stitches are still in place. You have to be careful, however, as they can still tear if you put too much stress on them. Stay off of that side and limit your movements. For now, you are confined to the bed, and we will see if you can make short trips in a day or two." There was more rustling, then Tikva pointed out the various buttons for pain relievers, moving the bed and calling the nurse. Both women bade Tony and Ziva goodbye with Dr. Hayyim sternly ordering Ziva to get some sleep.

Once the doctor and nurse were gone, Ziva adjusted herself on the bed and let out a low groan. Tony looked at her sharply, worried about how she was doing.

"Are you alright? Do you need those pain meds? Should I call…"

"Tony." It was the first word Ziva had spoken since the phone call, and it actually made him jump. Her voice was much softer than normal, and he could hear a slightly strained note of pain in it. Still, her mouth was quirked upwards, and he could see a glint in her eyes. "I am fine. I hurt, yes, but I will live." She reached out with one hand and cupped his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured. His brow furrowed.

"For what?"

"For... for being you. For caring about me. For…"

He stopped her then, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. He heard Ziva's sharp intake of breath, the increase of her heart monitor and then she was reciprocating the kiss, running a hand over his stubble-covered cheek and through his hair. They stayed this way for several seconds, and then broke apart, both smiling softly. Tony wound his fingers through Ziva's own, lifted her hand to his face and brushed his lips over her knuckles. With his other hand, he reached into his inner coat pocket and produced Ziva's Star of David, placing it where she could see it.

"It's about time this came back to you," he said with a roguish grin. "May I?" He motioned in the direction of her neck. Ziva nodded and lifted her head so that he was able to set it around her neck. She placed her free hand on the charm, her eyes sparkling, and then yawned, the day's events clearly catching up to her.

"Sleep." Tony ordered gently, extracting his hand from hers and smoothing away some flyaway curls. "I've got you back Ziva." As she drifted off, he whispered, "Always, love, always."


	3. Chapter 3

It took Ziva two weeks to recover from her injuries. During that time, Mossad tracked down her would-be assassin with the help of Aryeh, the falafel owner as well as the immense network of security cameras across Israel. The man, Shachar, had been a loyal follower of Ilan Bodnar and had tracked Ziva down to seek revenge for Bodnar's death. Once found, Shachar was, as Adam Eshel had bluntly put it, "eliminated". Both Ziva and Tony were relieved to hear this news, although her armed guards remained outside Ziva's door throughout the duration of her hospital stay.

Ziva remained in the hospital for a week, and then was allowed to return to her birth home to recuperate and plan her trip home. The dark, depressing thoughts that had plagued her throughout her stay in Israel had lifted, replaced by a joy matched only by Tony's when she told him she was returning to Washington D.C. At the news, he had embraced her with such exuberance that she had to ask him to stop- she was still healing after all. With that, Tony had taken it upon himself to make the arrangements needed to bring her _home. _Shipping her belongings, getting plane tickets and figuring out a plan to sell her house were just some of the preparations that he had done for her sake.

Sixteen days after the shooting, Tony and Ziva arrived at the Tel Aviv airport, ready to begin their trip home. There, they were met by Adam. While preparing to leave, Ziva had agreed to sell her birth house to Mossad to use as a safe house, and Adam had been a large part of the process. Standing at the gate, Adam gave Ziva a broad smile as she and Tony walked up. She returned the gesture, leaning a little more heavily on Tony than she would have liked. Even after the weeks of rest, walks were still strenuous for her, causing pain in not only her chest, but her bad leg as well. Not that she would ever admit it.

"You look well Ziva." Adam commented as soon as they were in earshot. Ziva gave him a small nod.

"I am… well enough. Thank you for all that you have done to help us Adam." Propped as she was against Tony's broad chest, she was able to very clearly feel the tightness that went through his muscles at her words. Clearly _he _wasn't as thankful as she was. Ziva gave him a quick nudge, and then added, "We _both _appreciate it." Tony gave a small snort while Adam struggled to hide a smirk.

"I am glad to have helped Ziva," Adam replied as he inclined his head in her direction, "I only wish that you would stay longer. But… I understand. America is your home now. Perhaps one day you will see fit to return to Israel again." If Tony's body was tense before, it was nothing compared to the rigidity running through his muscles at those words. Ziva gave him another, harder shove.

"Perhaps. Again, thank you for all you have done. Goodbye Adam." Stepping forward, Ziva gave her one-time lover a quick, light kiss on both cheeks, and then stepped back to Tony's side. Adam then stuck his hand out toward Tony. After a brief moment of hesitation, Tony took it and the two men shook hands twice. As they did, Ziva heard Adam murmur, "Take good care of her, please." To which Tony simply replied, "I will."

With that, the two partners and lovers boarded the silver airplane for the long journey back to the United States.

…..

As the plane began its descent into Dulles airport, Ziva was nudged awake from where she rested on the crook between Tony's neck and shoulder. "We're landing" he murmured, and Ziva immediately turned to the window, her breath hitching as she looked out once more on the place she had left months ago. She remembered the first time she had been to Washington D.C.-eight years ago- and at that time she hadn't been able to appreciate the city while trying to protect her half-brother. Now she could, and she was glad. Tony's hand closed over hers, and she squeezed it in response.

Once the plane touched down, Tony quickly grabbed both of their carry-on bags, refusing to allow Ziva near hers. When she protested, stating that she wasn't an invalid, he replied with "Doctor's orders, Zee-vah. Nothing over ten pounds. And both these bags are well over that." Blocking her clumsy grab, Tony scooped up both of their bags with ease and responded to Ziva's exasperated growl with a broad grin and a quick peck on her nose. She let him see a small smile- she really couldn't be mad at him with all he'd done- and let him lead her off of the plane and into the baggage claim.

That's where she saw them.

They stood in a close-knit knot around a giant hand-made sign that read "WELCOME HOME ZIVA!" in beautifully scripted letters. Gibbs, McGee, Abby and Ducky - they were all there waiting, waiting for _her_. Ziva looked back at Tony for a second, and he chuckled and motioned towards the waiting group. Before she could take a step however, there was a pig-tailed blur and Ziva was wrapped in Abby's arms- not her normal knock-your-breath-out-break-every-rib-hug, but rather one that was tender and even maternal, much like the one she had given Ziva on her return from Somalia. Abby didn't say a word- just clutched Ziva close.

Ziva's composure broke completely.

Tears leaked out, slow at first, then growing faster as the emotions from the past few months ran their course. Sobbing, she clutched at Abby, and then felt other arms embrace her. Looking up, she saw that the rest of the team had surrounded her in a hug. When everyone had released her, Gibbs pulled her in for another hug and brushed a kiss on her temple. His gruff voice vibrated through her body as he spoke.

"Welcome home Ziver."

…..

Tony drove them both back to his apartment from the airport. Most of her belongings were in a storage facility while she figured out her new living arrangements, and so it only took Tony two trips to bring in everything from the trip. Once inside, Tony directed a protesting Ziva to the couch while he put everything away. Once finished, he filled two glasses with water and ice, handed one to Ziva and sat down next to her with a sigh. She added a sigh to his and shook the ice, enjoying the musical sound the cubes made as they hit the side of the glass.

"What now Tony?"

"Hmmm?"

"What now? I have… nothing here. No job, no apartment, no… life. I am back, but I have no path. My life here was defined by my job, by the relationships I made with NCIS. My purpose was as an agent, and I cannot go back there Tony. My past will haunt me forever, and if I go back, I fear I will become my own worst nightmare- a merciless killer who takes the lives of others, others who have family who morn their passing. I know the lives we took were to save the lives of others, but my days of Mossad, Ari, they still haunt me. I can do this no more. I am… damaged." She put her water glass down and ran a hand over her face. A warm hand settled on her shoulders, and Tony pulled her close. What he said next startled her.

"Ziva, are you up for a short walk? I'd like to take you someplace… special if you can make it. It's not much more than five minutes away." Ziva nodded, even managing a small chuckle.

"Tony, I have spent over 13 hours on a cramped plane. A walk sounds wonderful." Tony grinned, snagged his keys, and led her out. He wasn't lying- after only a few minutes, the pair arrived at a small wooded grove overlooking the Potomac River. The sound of the splashing water was quite calming for Ziva. Tony pointed to a shaded bench and they sat down. For a while they sat in silence, watching a family of ducks pass by. Tony was the first to speak.

"I come here a lot, especially after you left. It's the one place I can really get a measure of peace." Tony paused for a moment, weaving his fingers through Ziva's, then continued on with his narrative. "I know that the past few months have unbelievably difficult for you Ziva. I know you have doubted yourself and what you have done in the past for quite some time. I know that you have gone through enough hell to last a thousand lifetimes and you've been told that you are damaged goods because of this. You think this is true." Ziva tensed at this, and Tony scratched her shoulder before continuing her speech. "But you're _not _damaged, Ziva. You're scarred, carry deep hurts and you have had to guard your emotions to survive, but I _know _that's not really you. I know that you are sharp, witty, gorgeous, strong, skilled and capable of so, _so _much love." Again he paused, and then gently pulled Ziva so that they were facing one another. She felt something warm stir in her chest at the absolutely adoring look on his face.

"Ziva, I love you. It's been eight years, and I've almost lost you twice, and now I have never been surer of anything in my life. No matter what happens, know this: _I love you_." A movement caught her eye and she saw him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a small velvet box. Tony moved so that he was kneeling in front of Ziva. He opened the box to reveal a bright silver ring set with a small yet stunning diamond. When Ziva took in a gasping breath, Tony whispered to her, "Ziva David, I want to forever be a part of your life. Will you marry me?"

There was absolutely no hesitation from Ziva. Tony's words reminded her of everything they had gone through-together- and brought forward the love that had always been there. With a somewhat clumsy lunge, she dropped to Tony's level and threw her arms around him.

"Yes Tony! _Yes._"

* * *

**Ahh! Almost done! Just the epilogue left, and then I'll return to _Irreplaceable. _**


End file.
